


the only way out is through

by kryzys



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Slow Burn, Zuko is appropriately melodramatic, everyone is aged up obviously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-05-16 05:22:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19311475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kryzys/pseuds/kryzys
Summary: After taking a year off to heal from an injury that leaves a scar across his face, newly disowned Zuko transfers to a public university where he meets the Gaang.A college AU where Aang is a nude model, Toph is in a sorority, Katara is suffering through pre-med, and Sokka is nothing but trouble.





	1. The Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Zuko returns for his first day of classes, is greeted by a flash flood, and makes some unexpected friends.
> 
> (Still figuring out AO3 formatting, forgive me. I have about three more chapters ready to go, but figured I'd pace myself. Also, I'm kind of squashing together Zuko's whole journey to self-acceptance so that it hopefully makes sense for a modern setting, since I can't imagine a father burning off half his kid's face without at least a call to CPS. And everyone is aged up, obviously.)

Zuko swung his way through morning traffic, biking around the slow-moving pedestrians until he reached the building his first class was supposed to be in. He dismounted, looking for the bike rack. It was tucked away next to the back entrance. He slotted his bike in, reached for the lock, and bent down to secure the tire to the iron bar.

He looked up to see Finn Hall looming in front of him, the 18th century architecture neat and well-maintained. Zuko took a moment to admire it. He might have to go to a public university now, but at least the buildings looked nice.

Oh, who was he kidding, Zuko had never been a silver lining type of guy. He was a freak with a scarred face stuck at a mid-tier school with no job and no family waiting for him after graduation. It had only been a year since everything fell apart, he thought, reaching up to touch the still-healing skin across his face.

The storm clouds overhead seemed to catch on to Zuko’s melodrama and rumbled ominously. He hadn’t even brought an umbrella. Shit.

The 8am classes must’ve finished up, because Finn Hall’s back doors burst open with a flood of students rushing to their next classes. Zuko fished his class schedule out of his pocket, the one he’d handwritten painstakingly the night before. _Nine am, Room 3.126, Introduction to Studio Art for Non-Majors_. Zuko stared at the scrap of paper, keeping his head bowed low. It had been a year, he should be used to people staring at his scar. It’s not that he had a problem with it. Really. He just didn’t want to see them do it.

Once the rush passed, Zuko found his classroom. There were a bunch of long tables arranged in a semi-circle, with a low chair in the middle. The professor sat at his desk in the front, flipping intently through a book. A few students had already found seats. Zuko picked one at the edge of the semi-circle.

A few minutes past nine, a bald, lanky kid slid through the door and walked over to the professor’s desk. He leaned over, studying the book. “Egon Schiele, that’s fun,” he said. “I guess minus the stuff with underage girls.” He had a clear, innocent voice.

“True,” the professor sighed, closing the book. “Okay, Aang, we can get started.” The class had been mostly silent, but with the snap of the book their heads all turned toward the professor, who stood up from his desk and walked to the front of the semi-circle. “Good morning everyone, should we get started?” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s get to it! Aang?”

Aang, who was still standing over at the desk, chimed in, “You know it’s the first day of class, right?”

The professor paused and took a look at the students around him. “That would explain why I don’t recognize anyone,” he said. Great. It was bad enough this class is a prerequisite, but Zuko somehow got stuck with a teacher who didn’t even know what day it was.

“Well, back to the beginning. My name is Professor Gyatso, but I’ll accept any clever variation of that you can come up with. I don’t believe in formal syllabuses, so you can turn in assignments as you feel necessary. I’m very good with names, and I’d like to learn yours,” he said, somehow managing a tone that was both soothing and mischievous.

Gyatso glanced over to where Zuko was sitting, but Zuko couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. Something about his stare was unnerving. “Tell me your year, name, and favorite painting. That should start us off nicely,” he said, gesturing to a student in the middle of the room. The introductions took forever. Zuko racked his brains for any painter he remotely liked, but he wasn’t one for art. He hadn’t been to a museum since… well, since his mother was alive, and it wasn’t like he really enjoyed it back then, what with Azula’s habit of trying to trip him onto the really expensive paintings.

Everyone’s eyes turned to him and Zuko realized it was his turn. “I’m a junior,” Zuko choked out, keeping his eyes firmly on the wall above Gyatso’s head. “Zuko. I don’t… I don’t think I have a favorite painting.” He balled his hands into fists to stop from reaching up to his scar.

Gyatso smiled. “The nice thing about not having a syllabus is making up assignments as I go along. I’d like you to come to take some time and pick a painting you really like.” Zuko nodded, and suffered. Silently. On the inside.

“And that’s Aang, our model and occasional teaching assistant.”

A pause. Model? As in, posing-without-clothes model?

“Yes, that’s right,” Professor Gyatso answered, which was when Zuko discovered his interior monologue was a little less interior than he thought. “But we won’t start off that strongly on the first day.”

Zuko thought this would be a class about color theory, or something.

Aang handed out small sketchpads to the students, which came with the class fee. He was wearing loose-fitting pants and a top that was either a very avant-garde shirt or just a long cloth with a belt around it. Zuko didn’t look at it for too long because the next second Aang had whipped it off and was standing on a chair in the center of the semi-circle. He still had on a small pair of white underwear. Small miracles.

“We’ll start with some quick one-minute sketches. When I ring this bell,” Gyatso demonstrated with what appeared to be a small call bell, “Aang will adjust position and you’ll start working on the new pose. Keep your strokes light, delicate, and don’t worry too much about accuracy. Now, begin!”

Zuko began furiously sketching, flipping his hair out of his eyes every few seconds as he looked up at Aang and then back down to the sketchpad. Zuko knew all the other art electives were filled up already, but he fantasized about dropping the class as Aang contorted himself around. But then he’d never graduate on time, and he couldn’t disappoint his father any further. If that was possible, he thought. His scar itched.

Professor Gyatso leaned over his shoulder. “You have a good eye,” he said. “Try to be less precise, though. Give the idea of the thing, not the actual thing.”

“I’m not a thing!” Aang interjected.

“Oh, alright. Try to give the idea of Aang, not actually Aang.”

Zuko couldn’t tell if Aang was actually enjoying himself, since his face was a smooth mask and his eyes were fixed on a point somewhere in the distance. He didn’t hesitate when the bell rang, transitioning smoothly to his next pose. Zuko thought Aang’s eyes might have flickered over to him once, but he could’ve been imagining it.

  
A few more poses, and Gyatso finally dismissed them, but not before asking all the students to practice sketching a few poses. “Use a mirror, the internet, your friends, whatever you’d like,” he’d explained.

Zuko shouldered his way out of the class, trying to pass through as if he had somewhere important to be. Not that he did. His next class didn’t start for an hour.  
With his rush to get out the door, Zuko felt awkward as he paused in the hallway to assess where he should go. He could grab a coffee, even if it made him jittery. Or maybe a tea. When Uncle asked about his day, he could at least make him happy by saying he’d had some tea.

Aang rounded the corner and spotted Zuko.

“Hey, you’re in Gyatso’s class! Are you in a hurry?” he called out to Zuko.

Zuko hesitated before answering. “No.”

“Are you sure?” Aang asked. “Because it looked like you were in a hurry.”

“I’m not.”

“Great! What’s your name?”

“Zuko.”

“Aang,” he introduced himself, and that placid look of concentration from earlier was replaced with a face so guileless Zuko wondered if this was definitely the same person from earlier.  
“Do you want to get lunch with me and my friends?” Aang asked. Zuko considered it. Really. But he had nothing to offer anyone, not even friendship.

“I can’t,” he lied smoothly. “I have an appointment.”

“Oh… for your scar?” Aang said, lifting his hand to the same part of his face that Zuko’s scar was on. “Sorry, that was rude to assume —”

Zuko could’ve said any number of things. He turned and had to stop himself from running out of the building.

His other classes were better. At least his other professors had syllabi.

Some of the other professors also chose to start with ice breakers, which he could handle, except for the one professor who stared for a little too long at his face and asked everyone to pick out an interesting fact about themselves. He knew what she was curious about. He’d picked out an inoffensive fact about his martial arts training.

All day, the storm clouds outside roiled. When he finally left his last class at six, he considered finally getting that cup of tea before going home to Iroh. He could get started on his assignments, he figured.

Google Maps directed him to the nearest off-campus coffee shop, a strangely named Cafe Omashu. He considered taking his bike, but he didn’t want to risk not finding a spot to lock it.  
He started walking, and it wasn’t long before he saw a hand-painted sign proclaiming the coffee shop’s name.

 

The storm clouds, having had enough ominous rumbling for the day, finally released a torrential flood. Right as Zuko was crossing the street. He reached the coffee shop, hair already dripping rivulets of water down his face, and pulled on the door. Closed. Of course. How had he missed the big handwritten sign that said, _CLOSING 6PM AUGUST 21_ _ST_ _._ That was today, and it was… 6:15.

Zuko walked to the side of the building, hoping for an awning, anything, to help him wait out the worst of the rain. There, next to the coffee shop’s dumpster, was just enough cover to hide under. He crouched down, resting his back against the brick wall, and watched the water swirl into a nearby manhole.

Between his miserable classes and the miserable weather, junior year was going about as well as expected. The back door he’d been leaning next to swung open, knocking him into a puddle hands first. No, _now_ this was what he’d expected.

“Oh, shit, I didn’t see you,” someone said. “Then again, how was I supposed to see you, it’s an opaque metal door and I don’t exactly have X-ray vision…”

“It’s fine,” Zuko muttered, picking himself back up. He wiped his wet hands against his wet jeans, and came face-to-face with…

A guy. Just a guy, he told himself as he felt a blush climbing up his face. The just-a-guy had large blue eyes and a wide mouth and strong nose, like someone had accidentally made everything just a little too prominent on his face. The look of surprise faded from the guy’s face and changed into a smile and Zuko wanted to run back into the rain, anything to keep Zuko from gaping at him so obviously.

“I’m Sokka,” the definitely-nothing-special-just-a-guy said, and extended his hand.

“Zuko.”

Sokka gave him a once-over, and maybe he was interested —

“You look like a wet cat,” Sokka said. So maybe not. “Want to dry off while I close up shop? Doesn’t look like the rain’s letting up any time soon.”

Sokka tossed a large trash bag into the dumpster and held the door open for Zuko. He mutely walked in.

“Here, the green one unlocks the bathroom,” Sokka said, tossing him a ring of keys. “Down that hall.”

Zuko meant to say something but instead stared, nodded stiffly, and started marching toward the bathroom.

“Please don’t turn out to be an axe-murderer!” Sokka shouted after him.

“ _Stupid_ ,” Zuko berated himself under his breath. He hadn’t been able to hold a single conversation all day and now he was terrorizing innocent coffee shop workers.

In the bathroom, Zuko turned on the cold tap water and stuck his head under it. It was an old trick his mother had taught him, however many years ago now. He could feel his brain calming down from the cold. Zuko spent another moment breathing, counting to four, before he felt calm enough to start drying himself.

It’s not that this was the way he acted around attractive people, Zuko told himself, sticking his hair under the electronic dryer. It’s just… he’d spent all day avoiding people’s eyes, and this humiliating encounter had left him feeling so exposed. He hadn’t felt attraction to anyone for a while, briefly even wondering if it had burned away along with half his face. Maybe it was his brain trying to prepare him for his life of eternal celibacy. Zuko peeled off his t-shirt, running it under the dryer.

Then again, why was he going through this whole charade when the second Sokka closed up the coffee shop he’d be back in the soaking rain?

A knock at the door.

“Hey, you okay in there? Plotting my death because I called you a wet cat? I mean, you know, cats are great and fluffy and pretty and even they have their… off… days…” Sokka trailed off as Zuko swung the door open, t-shirt still in hand.

There was only a brief moment of silence before Sokka started the chatter back up. “Are you sure you’re not, like, a hired assassin? You’re pretty muscle-y for a college kid.”

“No. Thanks. I’ll leave now,” Zuko said, handing Sokka the ring of keys and heading to the front door. He pulled his t-shirt back over his head.

“The front door’s locked,” Sokka said, trailing behind him.

Zuko smiled. “Are you sure you’re not planning on murdering _me_?”

“I knew there was a sense of humor in there somewhere!” Sokka turned the lock and let him out. “Wait,” he said, diving back to the counter. “Take my umbrella. You can bring it back tomorrow. I work the morning shift,” he said before Zuko could protest.

“Thanks. Sokka.” Zuko tried out the name. Sokka rewarded him with a smile.

“Get home safe, Zuko.”

Under the dark blue umbrella, the rain felt a little less ominous.

 

Zuko walked all the way back to Iroh’s house under his borrowed umbrella, even though his bike was still back on campus. It felt rude not to use his new gift. It’s just a loan, he reminded himself. A loan from a kind-hearted stranger. A hot, kind-hearted stranger.

Zuko shook his head and tried to stop that train of thought. He was here at this shitty college to finish up his degree and then…

Whenever he thought too hard about the future, his head hurt. For the longest time he thought he knew what he was destined for. A job at his father’s company, climbing up the ranks. He could never get a job there now. And his father would probably make sure he’d never get a job in the industry ever again.

Zuko unlocked the front door to Iroh’s cheery clay-red house, dropping his keys on the table and quietly toeing off his shoes. He dropped the umbrella off in the bathroom to dry off, and set out to the kitchen for some food.

“You move like a burglar through your own house,” Iroh said, his voice coming from the dining room table. Zuko jumped and head butted a carton of milk. “It’s no fun having someone to live with when they creep through the rooms like a mouse.”

“Yeah, well,” Zuko said, rubbing his head, “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Please do!” The call from the dining room came, so Zuko finished making his haphazard dinner and sat down at the table with Iroh.

In front of Iroh laid large swathes of papers, filled with different designs. He absent-mindedly flipped through them, making notes in the margins. Iroh had a great eye for design, and multi-national corporations came knocking down his door whenever they needed a fresh spin on their logo. Still…

“I thought you were retired.” Zuko hadn’t seen Iroh working this intently for the past year.

“Just a small project for a friend.”

Zuko ate his sandwich as Iroh made a couple more sketches. “What do you think of this one?” Iroh asked, sliding a paper over to Zuko. It was a simple outline of a mountain with a figure on each side. It was, like everything Iroh made, great. “It’s for a cafe close to your campus. My friend named the place after an old legend about two lovers. Besides, she’s offering me a year of free tea for the project.”

“You’re not getting paid?”

“At this point in my life, what use do I have for money?” Iroh asked. “It’s more important for me to do the things that I love.”

“Good advice for the septuagenarian crowd.” Zuko knew it was mean even as he was saying it, but Iroh had a habit of pushing his buttons. Like there was some secret he was keeping that he wanted Zuko to know about, but refused to say out loud.

Iroh laughed. “I’m not that old yet! But one is never too young or too old to enjoy a fine cup of tea.” Iroh collected the papers and went back to the kitchen. As Iroh rummaged around, Zuko pulled out his syllabi and wrote all the important dates into his planner. He had a paper due in two weeks, a copywriting exercise for his advertising class, and of course those sketches for Gyatso.

After filling in his assignments, Zuko flipped to a blank page and starting working on a to-do list. He had to return that umbrella. And find a job — Iroh had supported him this past year as he’d been traveling to doctor’s appointments and healing, but he couldn’t use up any more of his generosity. He should probably find a place to live. Probably get an internship to start working on job prospects after college. Should he start saving for retirement? What about a Roth IRA? Is that the kind of thing he had to worry about?

Iroh returned with two cups of tea and noticed the look on Zuko’s face. “What’s troubling you?”

“How am I supposed to start saving for retirement when I don’t even have a _job_?” Zuko asked.

Iroh sat down and nodded, sliding the cup of tea over to him. If he thought Zuko’s downward spiral was amusing, he kept it to himself. “You’re worried about taking care of yourself.”

“I’m…” Zuko struggled with the words. “I’m 21 years old, and I’ve had the same life plan my entire life. Dad — Ozai’s written me out of his will by now, so not only do I have to take care of myself now, what about, like, my hypothetical children? How am I supposed to put them through college? I already had to take out loans for myself, which means I’ll never be able to buy a house, which means I’ll never be able to give them a stable home environment, which means they’ll never get into any good colleges, so I guess I won’t have to pay for college, but then they’ll probably end up hardened criminals and I won’t even be able to pay for good lawyers for them.”

Iroh choked on his tea. “It might be a little early to start worrying about that.”

Zuko leaned his head against the cool wooden table. “I need to find a job.”

“That’s a reasonable goal. You don’t need to start worrying about the big picture yet,” Iroh said. “You’re still healing.”

“I’ve _been_ healing.” Zuko knew he was raising his voice. “I’ve been resting, and exercising, and… drinking tea,” he spat out. “And it hasn’t done any good.”

Iroh contemplated his tea. “That’s not the only kind of healing you need, nephew.”

Zuko reached over and took his mug of tea, cradling it between both hands. The heat radiated into his palms, almost too hot to be comfortable. Iroh didn’t say anything else, but he could feel his eyes on him. Zuko couldn’t keep up with this conversation, all of Iroh’s riddles and kind words. “I’m tired.”

“Get some sleep, nephew,” Iroh said. “A man needs his rest.” He returned to the sketches at the table, giving Zuko some peace.

Along with his hot cup of tea, Zuko went up to his bedroom. He stopped in the bathroom to rub some medicated ointment into his scar, ignoring his own reflection. Sleep came eventually, swirled with dreams of blank sketchbooks and wide, blue eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko returns an umbrella, is mistaken for a stalker, and gets a new job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I guess Zuko lives under a rock and has never heard of Basquiat because I couldn't come up with a more obscure artist.
> 
> (after posting I realized I forgot like, multiple conversations I meant to include so sorry it's so bare bones! no i'm not gonna go back and fix it!)

Zuko took the bus down to campus, picking up his bike before bringing both it and the umbrella to Cafe Omashu. As promised, Sokka was inside working. There were two other workers behind the counter with him, and the coffee shop seemed to be still winding up for the day. A few college students sat scattered around the shop, heads bowed over their assignments.

Zuko walked up to where Sokka stood, wiping the counter.

“Here.” Zuko proffered the umbrella.

“Oh, hey! I didn’t think you’d bring it back,” Sokka said. “Five bucks, Suki!”

His co-worker, Suki, rolled her eyes and slapped a crumpled-up bill into his outstretched palm. “We all thought you’d come back and murder him,” she explained to Zuko. “No offense, but Sokka’s description of ‘dripping wet, silent, and muscular’ sounded a little sketchy. Not to mention that part about, uh,” she paused, fake contemplating for a moment, “was it, ‘murderous eyes’? Or maybe it was a little more—”

“Coffee?” Sokka, interrupted, turning to Zuko. “As a thank you for giving back my umbrella?”

“I should probably thank you,” he answered.

“It’s not every day I get to do a good deed and invite sad strays into the coffee shop, so I think karmically I’m fine. No need for a further reward. Although Suki’s probably put out that she lost the bet,” Sokka said.

Suki laughed. “With you gone, I’d probably get to pick up more shifts."

Zuko leaned against the counter and turned to her. “I could probably murder him if it would make you happy,” he said conspiratorially. Suki smiled and looked like she was considering it.

“He’s pretty annoying. Plus, the extra money…”

“No flirting while on the clock.” Sokka swiped at Suki with a small towel.

“Right, unless it’s with —”

“No. Flirting!” Sokka shooed Suki away. “See if I ever offer free coffee again,” Sokka muttered, returning to wiping the counter. He was glaring at the polished steel and wiping at it with such vigor it was as if he thought it would turn into a mirror if he tried hard enough. Zuko couldn’t tell if this was a sign he was supposed to go away.

“Um,” Zuko started. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“No, you totally can. With whoever you want. Although it’s a little questionable when someone’s on the clock, especially in the customer service industry, since we don’t have a lot of choice as to who we can interact with. But Suki would tell you if she thought it was annoying. You should have seen her with this customer last week, I think he started crying.” Sokka seemed to go on these types of tangents pretty often.

“I wasn’t.”

“Crying?”

“The other thing,” Zuko said, wondering how someone’s mind could work like that. “Could I buy a cup of tea? Black?” Sokka finally dropped the rag and rang him up, handing over a cup of hot water with a tea bag steeping in it.

Zuko thanked him and was about to find an empty seat before stopping. “Hey, Sokka? Do you have a favorite painting?”

Sokka looked up at him with a smile. It was a little painful to look at really, the way his face opened up, as if there was anything about talking to Zuko that made him happy. “Big art fan, huh?”

Zuko didn’t want to disappoint that smile, but it would’ve been a lie to agree. “I’ve got an assignment. I have to pick a favorite painting.”

“Well, in that case…” Sokka responded thoughtfully, tapping a finger against his chin, “Maybe something by Basquiat. I don’t really know if I have a favorite either.”

“Thanks. I’ll look into it. And thanks for the tea. And the umbrella.” Zuko knew he sounded like an idiot. “Thanks.”

“You already said that,” Sokka answered, smirking, and went back to work.

Zuko picked a small table to enjoy his tea and knock out some homework. He came up with some pretty good slogans for his advertising class. It was only a warmup assignment, according to his professor, but Zuko was finally happy to work on something related to his major.

An hour later he moved on to Gyatso’s assignment. Zuko pulled out his flimsy sketchpad and searched around the coffee shop, thinking he might as well knock out a few sketches. Though from the one class he’d had with his new professor so far, there was a good chance he would forget about the assignment altogether.

Zuko’s eyes settled on a coffee shop patron slumped forward on his table, arm hanging off the side. That pose would make for a good study.The coffee shop played a few quiet strains of an unidentifiable song as Zuko drew, focusing on “the idea” of the thing, or whatever.

Sokka was still behind the counter, cleaning and restocking. He and Suki worked well together, moving gracefully around each other behind the cramped counter space. Zuko wondered if they were together. That would explain Sokka’s reaction from earlier. Maybe.

Sokka didn’t glance in his direction at all, which emboldened Zuko to pick up his sketchbook and try to sketch a few of his poses. Reaching up to a cabinet. Bent over by a sink.

 

“Oh my god, you’re a stalker.” He hadn’t heard Suki walk up behind him. She was staring at his page full of sketches, which was — oh god, he’d filled out a full page without realizing. And he had no plausible deniability, because of course he was dumb enough to add Sokka’s small ponytail to each figure.

“No, it’s not — it’s an assignment,” Zuko said desperately. He looked up at her.

“Sure, buddy.” The light-hearted look in her eyes from earlier was gone.

Zuko wondered if it was too late to transfer schools. Again. “It’s for this art class that I don’t even want to be taking, but this weird monk — I mean, professor, told us to sketch people from real life, and I’m not an artist—”

“Clearly.”

“I didn’t realize I was drawing him so much. I got… distracted,” he finished lamely.

Suki sighed and took the seat in front of him, turning it around so that she could sit down and straddle it. “Listen…”

“Zuko.”

“Listen, Zuko,” she said, her voice dropping low. “I’m considering giving you the benefit of the doubt and treating you like yet another guy with an embarrassing crush on Sokka—” Zuko made a strangled noise— “but I need something to go off, because right now I’m a little concerned for his safety.”

She could probably murder him with her bare hands. Or at least make him cry. “I’m not…” Zuko struggled to say something that wouldn’t result in him being banned from the premises. “I just transferred from a different college and it didn’t exactly end well.” He wasn’t making a very convincing argument. “The only people I’ve talked to for the past year are a bunch of doctors and my uncle, so my conversational repertoire runs the gamut of different types of tea, and what kinds of ointments to put on a burn scar. And I’m sorry. I’m not used to… friendly people. And I really do have an assignment,” he finished.

Suki sighed. “Sokka always manages to find the basket cases,” she said.

“I’m _not_ a basket case, I’m—”

She waved her hand to quiet him. “Semantics.”

Zuko closed his sketchbook and grabbed his tea, ready to leave and never return.

“Are you scaring off our customers again, Suki?” Sokka called out from behind the counter as Zuko stood up.

“No, I was leaving. I’ve got class,” he lied, Suki’s eyes following his every movement. “Good tea,” he said, even though that was yet another lie.

Zuko fled the scene. It was becoming a weird habit of his. He unlocked his bike and hopped on, integrating himself into southbound traffic without even thinking about where he was going.

 _Why am I so bad at being_ normal _?_ he chided himself.

He had a degree in advertising to finish up, to prove to his father that he was still reliable and worthwhile, and he could never do that if he kept distracting himself. He didn’t belong here, he thought, among people who said what they thought and protected each other. He was an outsider everywhere.

The mid-morning traffic congested as people took their lunch break, and Zuko swung back onto campus to follow a lead on a job.

 

The writing center was tucked toward the back of campus, shaded by two old oak trees that seemed to stand guard by the front door. Zuko made his way inside, winding through the building’s maze before reaching a sleek room with the words Franklin Writing Center emblazoned on the wall.

A girl with dark eyeshadow and bangs falling across her eyes sat at the receptionist’s desk. A small plaque in front of her read _June_. Seeing as it was August, he assumed that was her name.

“Hi,” Zuko said. “I saw online that you were hiring writing coaches?”

“Maybe,” June answered. He waited for her to say more. She didn’t.

“Well, I’d… like to apply.”

June sighed and finally looked up at him. “What do you study?”

“Advertising. I’m in the copywriting track here. Now.”

“Year?”

“Junior. Kind of.”

“Do you add unnecessary qualifiers to all of your answers? Because that’s not really a good writing habit to get into.” She was making fun of him, it seemed like, but it also didn’t feel personal. More like a strange hazing ritual.

“I was studying at Agni University before this,” Zuko said. “I just transferred. Still figuring out my credits.”

“Agni, huh? Couldn’t hack it at an Ivy?” June asked.

“I managed just fine. Two years longer than you ever did.”

June slid the paper application across the desk as if she was bored of their conversation. She pulled out a pen from the cupholder and placed it on top. With a perfunctory thanks, Zuko took the paper to a nearby table and started filling it out.

Name, major, prior work experience… After a small hesitation, Zuko put down his time at Ozai’s company. He’d done a lot of copyediting during his two years there. He knew he was more than suited for a position of fixing freshmen English papers. There was a second page of a fake essay where he had to find potential grammar mistakes. Zuko circled and underlined, adding some notes in the margins about how to strengthen the argument.

He all but slammed down the completed application in front of June before heading toward the door.

“Wait,” June said, picking his application up and glancing over it. He stood in the middle of the room, caught between leaving to dramatically make his point and staying to not alienate the person in charge of getting him a job. “You’re hired.”

“Really?”

“No.” She set the paper down. “You have to go through a trial period first. First you’ll shadow a worker, then they’ll observe a couple of your sessions before releasing you upon the hapless freshmen.”

“So I _am_ hired?” Zuko was getting whiplash.

“If you don’t screw it up.” June scrawled an email address on a post-it. “Send in your class schedule to this email and we’ll figure out your work hours and paperwork. You’re lucky we’re short-staffed, it’s not always this easy.”

“I didn’t think secretaries had hiring privileges.”

“I’m not a secretary,” June said, looking like she was about to eat him. “I’m your new boss.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko learns about Aang’s stance on nudity, makes some new friends, and starts his job.

Zuko avoided the coffee shop by a wide berth for a couple of days. He went back to keeping his head down, taking tea with his uncle in the evenings, and putting all his energy into his schoolwork.

He’d looked up Basquiat, a name he wasn’t unfamiliar with, but he hadn’t been expecting this artwork. He wanted to ask Sokka what he liked about it. Listen to him ramble some more. But he was just a stranger, Zuko reminded himself, and besides, Suki had probably described his weird stalker drawings to Sokka already.

Although Gyatso had liked them, when he went around the room, giving the students feedback on their sketches. “You have a better grasp of the idea,” he’d said, and Zuko still didn’t know what he meant.

After Gyatso’s class ended, Aang caught up with him again and started talking before Zuko could get a word in. “First of all, I’m sorry because I tend to say things that pop into my head without even realizing and I know that’s really rude so I definitely owe you lunch now — my friends and I grab a meal at the dining hall next door and the food’s not great but it _is_ cheap and the veggie burgers are surprisingly decent, so please come get lunch with us today? I’ll pay,” he finished. Aang had good lung capacity for someone so slight.

Zuko stood for a moment in Finn Hall’s crowded hallway, students knocking his shoulder as they moved past him. The fluorescents hummed, and, “Yeah, okay,” came out of his mouth before he realized.

Aang held up his phone, an old Nokia brick, and prompted Zuko to put his number in. It took ages for him to remember how to type on it, pressing the 9 button four times before he could even get the first letter of his name.

“Have you considered upgrading?” he asked, figuring out how to save his contact information.

Aang shrugged. “It doesn’t seem important. I’ll see you at noon. Over at the dining hall!” he shouted, already moving away with the crowd.

When noon rolled around, Zuko stood at the front door of the dining hall and wondered if he was supposed to go in. Did Aang want to meet him inside? Or were the two of them supposed to find each other before getting food?

“There you are,” Aang said, strolling up. “Toph and Katara are on their way too, but they had some sorority stuff to figure out.” Greek life was another new thing for Zuko. Agni had had a few chapters, but none that were officially recognized by the school. Here it seemed everyone was wearing oversized t-shirts emblazoned with their sorority of choice.

Aang took Zuko into the dining hall, stopping every few seconds to say hi to yet another person that knew him.

“What year are you?” Zuko asked.

“I’m a sophomore, but I’ve been hanging around the school for a couple of years now thanks to Gyatso. I’ve racked up the weirdest college credits, too. Did you know we have an animal husbandry class?” Aang stopped to chat to yet another person, so Zuko moved forward to figure out the layout.

The food selection wasn’t great, like Aang had said. The options were salad, hamburgers, pizza, and Jell-o for dessert. Then there was a long line that split the middle of the dining room. “There’s usually one freshly-made option that they change out every day. I think today’s a stir-fry,” Aang explained.

Zuko planted himself in the line, right behind a tall guy in cowboy boots. The guy turned around and gave him a nod, but his eyes stayed fixed on Zuko’s scar. Zuko pretended not to see the greeting, or the stare.

By the time Zuko got his bowl of stir-fry, Aang was seated at a table with two girls. One of them noticed his arrival and smiled at him as he sat down. She had on a blue tunic and her skin was the same shade as Sokka’s which — _why did he have to think about Sokka right now?_

“I’m Katara,” the girl said, “and this is Toph.”

“Zuko.”

He picked at his food, looking down at his plate. Broccoli, water chestnut, some bell pepper. Maybe if he ate quickly this whole thing would be over faster.

“Do you always talk this much?” Toph asked drily, and Zuko assumed she was talking to him even though she didn’t look in his direction. She had a white cane resting alongside her in the booth, so that answered that question.

“Yeah.” Zuko kept picking at his food. He didn’t know why Aang had brought him here. He felt like a charity case.

“He’s a real keeper, Aang.” Toph picked up the burger in her plate and bit into it. She continued talking with her mouth full. “Anyway, the girls are planning a mixer with one of the frats and they made me sit through the planning committee even though I keep telling them I can’t _see_ the decorations.”

“You’re in a sorority?” Zuko asked. She didn’t seem like the type.

“I’m, like, their diversity hire,” she said, adopting a breathy tone before returning to her regular voice. “Chinese _and_ blind. It keeps my parents off my back, plus I get to sneak out a lot of alcohol from the frat parties.”

“You don’t get in trouble for that?”

Toph shrugged. “My mom’s a legacy,” she said.

Katara changed the topic, turning toward him. “How’d you and Aang meet?”

“Zuko’s in Gyatso’s class.”

“Oh, gross,” Toph said. “The one where you stand around naked? No offense, but I’d never want to see that much of you.”

Aang didn’t seem offended. “It’s just art. I think it’s pretty cool. Think about it — the human body is the only thing capable of both producing art and being art.”

Katara nodded. “Gyatso’s a great teacher. I’m pre-med,” she said, “So I took the class to look at human anatomy in a different way.”

“So… you’ve seen Aang naked.” Maybe this was just how Aang made friends.

“Um… yeah.”

“I haven’t! And I’ll never have to,” Toph added.

“Do you like posing?” he asked Aang.

Aang paused mid-bite of tofu and thought about it. “It’s nice to approach it mindfully,” he said slowly. “And I actually get paid for every session. It’s not much, but it could come in handy.”

Toph snorted. “Right, for when you finally ask out —”

“Anyway! Gyatso likes the help,” Aang interrupted, turning red. “He used to be my foster dad, but he legally adopted me a couple years ago. Since he works here, I get free tuition.” He finished his lunch and stood up. “I’m gonna check out the dessert table and see if there’s anything other than Jell-O. _Gelatin_ ,” he muttered, as if it had personally offended him.

“So what’s your deal, tough guy?” Toph asked once Aang had left.

“ _Toph._ ”

“What, Katara? You guys can see him, I’m basing all my opinions on his voice,” Toph said, tilting her head to the side. “Do you have a lisp, by the way?”

“A little bit,” Zuko said. His mom used to take him to a speech pathologist when he was younger, but the visits dropped off to zero after… “It used to be worse.”

He felt like he was treading on thin ice here, but he asked, “Speaking of deals, what’s Aang’s, exactly? The whole art model-luddite thing.”

“Well Aang’s… Aang,” Katara said. “He was homeschooled all the way up until his senior year, so I don’t think he’s especially used to the idea of gossip and cliques and…” Katara waved her hand around, “all that other nonsense.”

“He’s the most out of touch in-touch person I know,” Toph added helpfully. “And my deal is that I’m blind —duh— and also love rocks, and Katara’s whole thing is being hyper-competitive and judgmental and also punching shitty frat guys.”

“That was _one time_ ,” Katara protested. “And you forgot to include your uncompromising bluntness and questionable hygiene.”

Toph laughed and seemed to enjoy Katara’s assessment of her. “There you go, we’ve got all our deals out of the way, now Aang can be happy that we’re friends.” Just like that.

Aang returned with a single brownie and three spoons. “Turns out talking about the immorality of eating boiled horse hooves works some times,” he said, and they lingered over the brownie for another half hour before Zuko left for his first shift at work.

 

He started his first day under the tutelage of June, who seemed to want to punish him for the secretary comment. Fair enough. He followed her to her first writing appointment, with a hapless freshman named Meng. She’d brought in an essay from her introductory philosophy class, a rambly three-page mess that was possibly meant to be an analysis of the Platonic notion of eros.

June read through the paper with Zuko peering over her shoulder. She looked at Meng. “So, there’s no grammar or spelling mistakes that I need to fix,” she said, and Meng smiled with pride. Zuko was surprised to hear that, because he could count at least three run-ons in the opening paragraph.

“Because this paper would fail even if I did fix them.” Ah. “Look,” June said, pulling out a blank page, “You said this assignment was meant to be a close reading of _The Symposium_ , right? I want you to write down three different ideas Plato presents about eros.”

Meng took the paper and sat thinking before scrawling down a few lines. “Next thing you’re going to do is go back to the book and find three quotes that prove each thing you wrote down. Come back once you’ve done that.”

“Is that it?” Zuko asked once Meng had left.

June sighed. “You’re new here, so here’s your first lesson: We don’t help shitty writers skate by with low C’s by being their personal spellcheck. If you’re trying to put lipstick on a pig, this is the wrong job for you.” Zuko bristled at the comment, but followed June into her next appointment.

The writing center was well set up, he had to admit. Students booked appointments online, describing the assignment, the class, and what part of their writing they wanted to focus on. They could even select which writing coach they wanted to work with. Despite all odds, June was popular with the students. She had a reputation for getting each student an A — as long as they provided enough time before the essay was due for her to browbeat them into success.

He followed her around during his six-hour shift, watching as June alternately berated and encouraged each writer. She was kind of like Mai, he thought, just with all the emotions turned outward. He could barely remember the last time he’d seen Mai — probably at the hospital, dragging his half-conscious body through the ER doors. He’d never thanked her, but then again, she hadn’t come back to see him either.

Zuko’s head was still stuck in the past as he took a break to grab some water, filling up his water bottle at the fountain. It had all been an accident, he knew. Or that was all he could tell himself to stay sane.

“Hey. I think your cup runneth over.” Zuko knew that voice.

He turned around to see Sokka standing behind him. Sokka was staring at his water bottle, which — shit, yeah, who knows how long he’d been pouring water into it.

“You’re here.” He meant it to be a question.

“Getting some writing advice, yeah,” Sokka said. “You too?”

“No, I work. Here. Just started.”

“Nice. I can’t really write for shit. I mean, I get all the ideas down, but it turns out my professor’s don’t find my tangents as charming as I do.”

It was disconcerting, seeing him outside of the one place Zuko had marked as Sokka’s territory. His ponytail looked a little frazzled, a few strands of hair falling out from the front. Zuko was embarrassed by how charming he thought it looked.

He asked the question he’d been thinking about for so long. “So, Basquiat?”

“You looked him up?” Sokka smiled, and launched into one of those tangents his professors must hate. “It all started with this documentary I watched, about these graffiti pieces he made…” Zuko lost track of the words Sokka was saying, instead watching the way he threw his whole body into the story, hands waving to elaborate some part of his point. “Plus, maybe it’s a little shallow but I think it’s cool he was bi,” Sokka finished, and Zuko tried to refocus. And not panic. “I was gonna offer to show you the documentary, but Suki said you weren’t planning on coming back to the coffee shop.”

Zuko’s face must have betrayed him, because Sokka added, “Sorry, is that too forward? I didn’t mean… I just thought, maybe, it… could be fun?”

“No.” It came out more curt than Zuko meant it to.

“Right,” Sokka said, and maybe he looked… disappointed? Angry?

“I have to work,” Zuko said lamely, picking up his water bottle and returning to June. She smirked when he sat down next to her, still a little flustered.

“Get into a fight with your boyfriend?”

“ _Not_ my boyfriend.”

“Figures,” June said. “He looked too good for you.”

He finished out his shift, with June promising — or maybe threatening, knowing her — that next time she’d observe him as he coached students through a few essays.

 

Zuko was in the process of unlocking his bike when his phone buzzed. _Next class I’ll probably be completely naked, just a heads up!_ the text read. Zuko stared at the green text bubble. _This is Aang. Sorry, weird introduction._

It made him laugh, a little, and when he showed Iroh the messages his uncle knocked over a cup of tea when his booming laughter shook the table.

_Thanks for the heads up_ , Zuko texted back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko and Iroh visit a coffee shop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter, but had to get this bit out of the way. (thank you so much for the comments, by the way, I'm really enjoying writing this & it makes me happy to think other people enjoy it too)

Uncle Iroh finished his design eventually, and the cafe he was working for decided to host an unveiling party for the new logo. And Zuko agreed to go, at Iroh’s insistence.

It wasn’t until he saw the Cafe Omashu sign that he realized how bad of an idea this was. He considered begging off, telling Iroh he felt sick, or something — but he knew this meant a lot to Iroh. He couldn’t leave.

But oh god, he didn’t want to be here.

“Hello!” Uncle Iroh called, swinging open the door of the coffee shop. The new logo was emblazoned on the back wall, and the chairs and tables had been arranged on the sides to create more standing room. With the sun setting outside, the coffee shop had been transformed from its usual style into something more… well, intimate.

Iroh was at least half a foot shorter than Zuko, but that didn’t stop him from trying to hide behind Iroh’s broad back. “Uncle,” Zuko began, “I don’t think I feel so —”

“Pao!” Iron exclaimed, rushing over to greet the coffee shop owner and leaving Zuko on his own. Zuko stood by the cafe’s entrance, eyeing the crop of people that were celebrating the new design. They looked different than the shop’s regular patrons — fewer hoodies, for a start.

Pao and Iroh greeted each other like old friends (which Zuko knew they were). He watched them from a distance, laughing, as he did his best to appear invisible.

“You must be Iroh’s nephew.” A stranger with frazzled hair turned to him. “And Ozai’s son.” The statement wasn’t exactly venomous, but there was an undercurrent to his words.

Zuko swallowed, focused on conveying a neutral face, and answered. “I’m proud to be Iroh’s nephew.”

The stranger appraised him with a friendlier expression. “You must be in college by now. I’m Jeong Jeong, an old friend of your father’s,” he said, shaking Zuko’s hand. “You were so young when we first met, you might not remember.”

Zuko didn’t remember his face, but the name left an impression. Jeong Jeong had worked for his father, leaving over ten years ago to start his own company, and poaching some of Ozai’s best workers in the process. He’d opened his own advertising studio, Deserter, and Zuko hadn’t heard anything about him since Ozai’s original flare of temper. It had been a tense few months.

“How’s your… company?” Zuko asked, figuring it was safe enough to stick to small talk.

Jeong Jeon smiled bitterly. “I suppose you were young. Your father scared off a lot of our clients, but we’ve kept afloat.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said, and meant it. “I wasn’t privy to much of his business.” Ozai’s firm, Sozin Group, dealt with a mixture of advertising and PR, although Zuko had stuck more to the advertising side after he’d seen some of the more controversial choices Ozai had made. After his decision, there had been another tense month. Ozai had a knack for making even the smallest conversation fraught with tension. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Zuko turned away, hoping to signal that the conversation was over. Jeong Jeon seemed to understand, walking away and plucking a cup of tea off a server’s tray.

The server, of course, being Sokka. Zuko couldn’t escape his bad luck. Sokka’s hair was tied back in the usual ponytail, a small tray in his right hand, and a black apron tied around his waist. Zuko didn’t think there was a way to make an apron look good, but Sokka somehow managed.

He had five seconds to get out of here before Sokka spotted him. Zuko turned toward the door, ready to move, but a large group walked in and stopped to chat at the entrance. He considered launching himself through the window, and his feet even moved into position, but —

“Zuko?” Sokka’s voice was hopeful. Zuko stopped planning his escape.

“Hi,” he managed, trying to calm his flight-or-fight response, the same time as Sokka asked, “What are you doing here?”

Oh. “My uncle designed the new logo.”

Sokka beamed. “I like it! Really captures the spirit of the legend.” Right, the legend Iroh had mentioned. Maybe if he’d looked into it for two seconds he could’ve avoided this mess.

“I’ve never heard of it,” Zuko said.

“Well, it starts with these two warring towns, where a couple falls in love. Very Romeo and Juliet, might I add, with an only slightly happier ending,” Sokka said. “They build tunnels in between a mountain to meet in secret, but the man is killed during the war and the woman almost kills everyone in revenge.”

“Seems reasonable.”

“And then,” Sokka started, but his hand wobbled underneath the tray he was holding.

Zuko instinctively reached for it and blurted out, “Do you need any help?”

“Nah,” Sokka said. “I mean, I didn’t sign up for this job to be a server, but I figure I can handle a one-off occasion. Your uncle better not plan any other logos, though,” he added.

“I can help,” Zuko offered again.

“Well… one of our servers _did_ call out sick. Are you sure?” Sokka asked. Zuko nodded.

Sokka led him to the back closet to dig out a spare apron. Zuko walked in behind him and the door slammed shut behind the two of them.

“I really hope that door doesn’t auto-lock,” Zuko said, trying for some levity. A small part of him hoped it did.

“We should be fine.” Sokka rooted around the packed storage closet, bent over at the waist. Zuko looked up at the ceiling, although — sue him — he snuck a few glances.

“Ugh, there they are. We’re about to send out a batch for laundry, so we’re running pretty low,” Sokka said, pulling out another black apron with a flourish.

Zuko slipped it over his head and reached behind his back to tie it in place. He’d never had to tie something behind his back and he struggled with the unfamiliar angle.

“Let me help,” Sokka murmured, and the closet suddenly felt stuffier than before. Zuko turned around. The whole ordeal was tantalizingly slow, Sokka’s knuckles grazing across his back as he tied a loose bow.

“I’m… sorry,” Zuko choked out.

“For?”

“The stalker thing. I didn’t mean it.”

“You were _stalking_ me?”

“No! Suki thought…. I assumed she told you.”

“That you were stalking me.” Sokka’s voice sounded amused, despite their train wreck of a conversation.

“Again, no.” Zuko inhaled, readying himself to explain. He turned around to face Sokka. “I was doing some drawings at Omashu for an art class and a couple — some — a lot of them were of you, and Suki was worried, because. You know. You knocked me into a puddle and then I disappeared.”

“Something like that,” Sokka said, looking at him with an unrecognizable expression.

“I’m sorry.” Zuko was running out of apologies for today. “Let me help you.”

Sokka inhaled. They were face to face, inches apart, and Zuko wondered if this was the last time he would ever see Sokka. His apology was terrible, Zuko thought.

“Help me?” Sokka’s voice was low. There were so many ways Zuko wanted this to go.

“With… the tea.” He reached for the doorknob and thank god, it opened. The noises of the party filtered through, along with a weak fluorescent light.

“Yes!” Sokka said quickly, following him out. “The tea. For your uncle’s party. Which is why I was getting you an apron. To go with the tea.” They didn’t say anything else as they rejoined the celebration.

 

Iroh gave a curious glance as Zuko loaded up a tray with tea cups, but he didn’t say anything. This event was so much easier to handle as a wordless server than the logo designer’s nephew.

Zuko mingled through the small crowds, letting people pluck tea cups off his tray and refilling when necessary. Every once in a while, Sokka made his way over to Zuko to make yet another inane remark. It was the highlight of his evening.

At one point, while Zuko was leaning against the exposed brick wall, Sokka came up to him, empty tray tucked under his arm, and asked, “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

Zuko did his best not to let the tray waver. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he said. “And Suki said you’ve dealt with a lot of weird guys at work.” That was a very broad, paraphrased version of what she’d said.

“I’m not uncomfortable,” Sokka answered, pushing himself off the wall and going back to refill his tray. Zuko stared at his receding back, trying to make sense of any of this.

Once everyone else had departed, leaving only Iroh, Sokka, and Zuko, the trio exhaled a breath they all seemed to be holding.

“Remind me to insist on a shorter party next time,” Iroh grumbled.

“It could’ve been much worse,” Sokka insisted. “Trust me, this was nothing compared to the five o’clock rush.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” Iroh said. “I hope Pao is paying you well for your work tonight.”

Zuko watched Iroh and Sokka interact. They bantered a little as Zuko untied his apron and laid it across the counter. They even hugged, and Iroh slipped a crisp bill into Sokka’s palm — “as a thank you for the excellent tea brewing,” Iroh insisted, which was quite a stretch — and soon Zuko and Iroh were on their way home.

“What a kind young man,” Iroh said, as he carefully maneuvered his car through the streets. “I’m glad you have a friend like him.”

“Yeah.” Zuko leaned his head against the window.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zuko spirals, sees Aang naked, and finally puts the pieces together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> off hiatus, baby! we're going off the rails tonight!

Zuko started his morning off with a full view of Aang. As promised, once the class grew accustomed to life drawing, Aang removed his small briefs and posed nude in front of the class. It prompted a few giggles from less stoic classmates, but for the most part, class continued unabated.

Aang didn’t seem to register the difference. He stood in the center of the room, posing, ( _fully exposed_ , Zuko’s brain kept mentioning) and looking off into the middle distance. It was fine. Zuko’s mind was far away from the art room.

Zuko liked guys. He knew as much. He’d known for a while, even while he was dating Mai, and during one drunken night of two truths and a lie (which Mai always won) she’d sussed out this fact as well.

She’d taken it in stride, shrugging her shoulders, and adding in that hoarse voice of hers, “We both go both ways.” If it was an invitation to delve deeper, he didn’t try, unable to process anything over the thudding in his chest.

He’d thought, _what kind of boyfriend admits attraction to other people?_ It was all theoretical, but he knew. His own fears made him a terrible boyfriend. He’d rage when someone else showed interest in her, and she thought it was a juvenile jealousy. Zuko couldn’t imagine her staying with him as so many options flitted by, men with broad smiles, or low voices, or perfect physiques. She didn’t — _couldn’t_ — want him when he was the fumbling son of a distant father. She could want his status. She could want his money. So he offered as much as possible. The chefs cooked meals to her whims, and he hired their driver to take them to private dinners. But when the waiter lingered too long at their table, the fears came back.

He kept thinking, if it was him, would he say no? Did he want the guys who showered her with attention to look at _him_? Was this enough? Was he enough?

It wasn’t that they were interested in her, and at the same time it was. Zuko couldn’t imagine Mai staying with him for any reason other than the fear Ozai had wielded over his own mother. Ursa didn’t stay out of love. Zuko thought, maybe, that he and Mai were cut from the same cloth, the same pattern he needed to weave.

He had been a terrible boyfriend to his first love. He could call her that now, with enough distance, far enough from the fear of admitting those painful feelings. He could admit how poorly he’d acted, but he didn’t want to think about what was causing so many memories to come back.

Zuko made lists sometimes, to help things make sense. Living with Ozai, he tried to make sense of his world. He knew three things for certain:

1) His mother had loved him.

2) Azula always lied, and everyone always believed her.

3) His father viewed him as a constant disappointment.

Nothing in that list had changed, but he could add a few facts.

4) Uncle Iroh loved him.

5) He was a disappointment.

6) He couldn’t bear to let anyone else know that.

Zuko had a moral compass, he thought, but he figured it would never point true north. Something about him always skewed it to the west.

“Zuko.” A hand came down on his shoulder and he turned around, for a moment expecting Ozai’s stern face to stare down at him. It was only Aang, but what he saw on Zuko’s face made him step back.

“Lunch today?” Aang asked, taking a glance at Zuko’s blank notebook.

“Is class over?” Aang was already fully dressed. He looked around, and yup, everyone was packing up and heading out. His head felt murky, like he’d spent too long underwater. “Can’t. I’ve got work.” Zuko didn’t bother to pack up, bundling everything into his arms and bounding out of the room.

He’d barely gotten to the writing center when his phone lit up with a text. _Maybe dinner? You look like you need it._ Aang’s frankness came through even in texts.

Another message followed: _Not in like a pitying way. Like a friend way. You know. Anyway._ Zuko considered it, but as he stared at the message, he couldn’t make a decision.

 

June had finally declared him competent enough to guide students through their essay writing without someone breathing down his neck. Though the tone with which she had said it didn’t inspire much confidence.

Yet here he was, adrift, preparing for his first solo day. Zuko clocked in and scrolled through his scheduled appointments, noting that most of his work would be with freshman. Zuko figured June had scheduled an easy first day for him. And then, four appointments from now, was a familiar name. 2:00pm, Sokka.

He hoped Sokka hadn’t chosen him on purpose. Zuko’s face still burned at how eagerly he’d jumped to help Sokka at the unveiling party. Maybe his embarrassing display made Sokka assume Zuko would do whatever he wanted. (Zuko tried to tell himself that wasn’t true.) Today he was nothing but confused, and seeing Sokka wouldn’t help.

He clicked on Sokka’s name to get some more details about the assignment. It was a paper for an english lit class, and for reason of visit, only proof-reading was checked off. Zuko tried to prepare himself. He couldn’t be so… weak this time, he couldn’t be the person his father thought he was. A bleeding heart, an embarrassing wound in Ozai’s side.

Ozai did the job for the money. Zuko could do the same.

He made it through his first few appointments, easy essays that didn’t need to be reworked from the ground up. He mostly guided students through the middle, where their arguments often sagged.

Thirty minutes before his appointment with Sokka, Zuko was a mess. He was halfway through a tutoring session with Longshot, a string bean of a freshman who listened intently as Zuko cut red marks through his essay, a close reading of _The Art of War._ Longshot’s dislike of talking didn’t do much to soothe Zuko’s nerves, since no matter what he said was greeted with a serious nod.

“Okay, tighten up the language and it should be a good essay,” Zuko finally said, sliding the paper back. Another nod.

“Cool. Good working… with you.” Nod. Zuko nodded back and left the room to wait for his next appointment. A regular appointment, he told himself. He was still on his first day, and June wielded the possibility of firing him with a particular relish.

He filled up his water bottle by the front desk while June filed her nails.

“I don’t normally let my employees work with people they know,” she said, still filing away at her nails. “But he did request you.” She looked up at Zuko. “Don’t give your boyfriend special treatment, alright?”

Zuko stared blankly. “I… no. Yes. Yup.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “If that’s how the session’s gonna go, at least get a replacement.”

He bristled at the words, unwilling to look weak in front of June. “There won’t be a problem.”Except now he was stuck with Sokka. “I’ll… go wait.”

Zuko heard a set of footsteps rounding the corner. He fled into the bathroom and listened, ear against the door, as June greeted someone. “Hi, here for a two o’clock?” A low voice murmured assent, but June’s mockingly sweet tone was enough for him to assume it must be Sokka. “He’s in the bathroom… I think he’s having some troubles. You know.”

Zuko flung the door open. “Hi! Here for the two? O’clock? Great, let’s go,” he said, speaking uncontrollably loud.

Zuko led them to one of the private rooms, hoping that Sokka was following because he couldn’t bear to turn around. He ushered Sokka in and they sat down around the circular table. “So, what do you need help with today?”

“Well. Hi,” Sokka said. “Funny how we keep running into each other.” When Zuko didn’t react, he added, “Joke! Obviously a joke. I know you work here.”

“Great. The essay?” Zuko waited until Sokka reached into his backpack and pulled out three crumpled pages. Sokka straightened them out as best he could before sliding them over toward Zuko.

Zuko took out his red ballpoint and uncapped it with his teeth, reading through the paper which was just as rambling as Sokka. Even before he finished the first page he could get a sense of Sokka’s argument, about the cross-character effects of trauma in _Jane Eyre_. When he got to Sokka’s conclusion, which had veered into a passionate argument about minimum wage, he started from the beginning and started slashing through whole sentences.

He continued for a few minutes in this fashion before Sokka muttered, “I thought you’d be nicer.”

Zuko looked up. “Why’s that?”

“Well, you seem really good at helping,” Sokka said, trying to backtrack his complaint.

Of course. “Right.” Because when people are nice, they get trampled. Ozai had taught him that.

“Not like that!”

“I get it,” Zuko said, looking back at the essay and scratching so fiercely that the paper ripped. “Shit — I’m sorry.”

He felt like jumping out of his skin, incapable of knowing what mood would strike him next. The essay, this morning, last year all blended together in his mind and he felt like a child again, watching Ozai burn the books Ursa had left behind when she disappeared.

It was all so vivid before him, the smoking bookjackets in the fireplace while he watched from the door, that he barely heard Sokka say, “Is everything okay?”

Zuko had to blink himself back to the present. “Maybe I should go find someone else to finish this up with you.”

Sokka didn’t move, and he asked his question again.

Zuko sighed. “It’s Ozai.”

“Your…?”

“Father,” Zuko said, feeling like that word didn’t encompass the role Ozai had filled in his life. “I haven’t seen him in a year, but he just gets in my head. And then Mai.”

“If you throw in any more names, I’ll need a genealogical tree.”

“Sorry, I’m supposed to be helping you with this essay.” Zuko turned back toward it, but Sokka slid it away from him and clutched it to his chest.

“Nuh-uh. I’m holding my erudite thoughts hostage until you talk to me. You helped me, now it’s my turn.”

“I don’t think serving tea counts as help.” Sokka wasn’t swayed by Zuko’s argument, tilting his head and waiting for him to speak with an open expression. It was the gentle look on his face that finally broke Zuko.

“I don’t want to bother you with anything… I’m just, you know, I guess, realizing it’s easier to be a horrible person than I thought. Which I am,” he said, his voice breaking a little at the end. Oh god. Any minute now and he’d start writing bad poetry.

He looked up at Sokka, who seemed uncomfortable with the turn of events. Of course. Zuko couldn’t even do his job right. He leaned his head down onto the table, trying to bring his head back to the present, even though this — the job, his… friendship with Sokka — were all burning down around him. He’d probably get reported, and he’d be back to relying on Iroh for everything, and drop out of college, and probably turn into a criminal, which would make him just like Ozai, again.

A tremulous hand reached for his head. Sokka stroked his hair, and it was both weird and soothing to the point that Zuko had to laugh a little. “Sorry,” he said.

“I think it’s probably my turn to talk.” And Sokka did, starting with his childhood, wrapping up the story like a fairytale. Zuko calmed his breathing, four seconds in, six seconds out, as he listened to Sokka’s story. “We were both so young, you know,” he ended wistfully. “It took me a long time to climb back out of the hole I felt in my life. You don’t have to be ready for everything right away.”

He didn’t know how many minutes later he lifted his head up and looked back at Sokka. His eyes were probably red.

“Better?” Sokka asked.

Zuko nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. I can’t date anyone again.”

Sokka pursed his lips. “Okay, not exactly what I was going for, but if that’s what you feel I don’t think I can really argue right now.” He laid his essay back on the table. “My grade is in your hands, after all.” A watery laugh got caught in Zuko’s throat.

He reached for the paper, grateful. “It’s not bad, you just need to cut at least half of it.”

“But I worked so hard on it!” Sokka protested. It was as if the past 15 minutes hadn’t happened at all, and he was a little amazed at how they could feel comfortable around each other after that. Maybe Sokka was faking it.

They finished the session without either of them acknowledging what had passed. It was like a sick bonding exercise, Zuko thought. At least he could avoid the coffee shop forever, and there was no way June would let him work with Sokka anymore, since she must’ve had enough time to lord it over him already.

At the end, Sokka stood up, and for a moment it seemed like he wanted to say something. Zuko waited, but Sokka only choked out, “Bye,” before heading out of the room.

When his shift ended, Zuko pulled out his phone. _Maybe dinner, if the offer still stands?_ he texted Aang.

Aang’s excited reply returned with a time and an address to a vegetarian restaurant.

 

 

Zuko met the group at the address Aang had sent, a cozy restaurant with a decent amount of patrons. He met them at a booth, where Aang, Katara and Toph had already gathered.

After he greeted everyone, Toph turned to him and said, “Can I feel your face?”

“Um. What?”

“I have a pretty good tactile memory, and I’d like to at least know get an idea of your face. Everyone else knows what Aang’s dick looks like,” she said, a little wistfully. Everyone processed that for a moment. “Not that I’ve asked, or ever will, _or_ have any interest in knowing, because that would be a pretty fucked up request. I’m just a fan of weird bonding exercises.”

“At least you know where to draw the line,” Aang said, a little relieved, once the tension had passed.

“Again, I’m just saying. You have your own bonding methods, I have mine.”

“I have a pretty big scar,” Zuko began.

“If it’s sensitive, I wouldn’t want to hurt you. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not that, it’s just a little… offputting,” he said, a little interested in Toph’s bonding methods.

She laughed. “Oh, I’ve got tons of keloids all over my body. Comes from being blind and trying to bend the world to your will. Also some terrible cooking bets,” she added.

“Okay.” He leaned forward. Toph didn’t do anything. “I’m leaning forward, by the way.”

“Sure, just communicate with the blind girl nonverbally, why not. Also, close your eyes, I’ve poked someone before.”

He complied, and two small hands cupped his face. “Smooth skin, nice. Oh man, sweet scar! This puts mine to shame,” she said, running her fingertips upwards. “Remind me to show you the one on my butt.”

Toph continued her face journey, smoothing down his eyebrows and feeling the edge of his hairline. She finished off by pinching his nose. “That’s a hot nose,” she said.

“My… nose?”

“I have no idea about the rest of your face, but I’m a nose connoisseur, and that’s a good nose.”

“Thanks,” Zuko said, returning to his seat. “Anyone else want to feel up my face?”

“First of all, I didn’t feel up your face, I just covered it with my gross germs, because, by the way, I should’ve mentioned that I’ve been handling rocks all day and totally didn’t wash my hands.”

“That’s comforting,” Katara said dryly. Her phone buzzed and she picked it up, smiling at the message. “Guess who’s _finally_ joining us?” Aang and Toph cheered. “My brother finally has some free time. Apparently he picked up an extra shift last night,” Katara explained.

Zuko could feel the back of his head prick up at the coincidence. “Where does he work?” he asked, unable to modulate his tone into something nonchalant.

Katara frowned at his words.“Most people have ajob in college. Not everyone can pay their way through.”

“I never said that — I have a job,” Zuko protested. “I was just wondering.”

And then the one good thing in his life came crashing down.

 

Moments later, Sokka slid into their booth. “I can’t _believe_ Pao let me off today, she’s so…” And then he paused. Looked at Zuko. Looked at his friends. Sokka rubbed his eyes and looked at Zuko again. “Nope, still there,” he said. “You guys can see him too, right?”

“Who, Zuko?” Aang asked, right as Toph chimed in with an, “Of course not, dumbass.”

Sokka frowned at Toph, who was smirking at her well-timed joke. “I know you think you’re funny.”

“Duh.”

Sokka finally looked at Zuko. “This isn’t a fever dream, right?”

Zuko managed a small wave. “Hi.”

“Zuko’s been eating with us for a while now,” Aang said, and that was enough for Sokka to lean back in relief.

“Thank god, I thought I’d finally snapped.” Zuko watched as Sokka deflated, slumping down until only his shoulders and head were visible above the table.

“Why would —” Katara started, before pausing. “Oh.”

“What, you couldn’t have figured that out?”

“I didn’t think—”

“I _literally_ told you his name, his name hasn’t changed, so —” Sokka paused and turned to Zuko. “You don’t have a twin, right?”

“Only a younger sister,” he answered, having lost track of the conversation.

Sokka sighed and picked up his fork. “Katara. This whole time, you couldn’t have, you know, helped a guy out?”

“I can leave,” Zuko offered.

During this whole conversation, Toph had stared straight ahead, letting the verbal volleys pass back and forth. She chewed on a piece of her burger (her usual meal) and finally straightened up. “You’re the guy who had Sokka’s umbrella,” she said, her voice smug as if she’d pieced together some complicated puzzle.

“I mean… I gave it back. Are you upset that I took it?” Zuko asked Sokka.

Sokka shook his head. “Ignore her.”

“This is great! _So_ much more interesting than listening to my sorority sisters decide on which mixers to buy for the party.” Toph seemed to be enjoying herself. Zuko wanted to disappear.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” he said, standing up.

“I’ll help you! I mean, me too.” Before he could protest, Sokka was manhandling him over toward the bathroom. “I’m really sorry about all this,” Sokka whispered into his ear. “Ignore them.”

Zuko wasn’t sure what he meant. “Am I… making you uncomfortable? Do you want me to leave?”

“No!” A few people turned around to look at Sokka. He lowered his voice. “No. I just… had no idea you guys knew each other,” Sokka said, scratching the back of his head.

“I didn’t know you were Katara’s brother.”

“Yeah, I guess we’re both older brothers, huh? Sucks to be the one with all the responsibility,” Sokka said, mostly lighthearted.

“I think you’ve got the better end of the deal.”

They were standing in front of the bathroom door now, and Zuko stared at Sokka, unsure if he wanted to continue this conversation in front of a urinal. “Um. I didn’t really have to go to the bathroom.”

“Me neither,” Sokka said with relief. He glanced behind them. “But we can’t just walk back to the table, because that would be… even weirder.”

Zuko pushed the bathroom door open. “Real quick,” Sokka said breathlessly. “About—”

“My breakdown in the middle of work? Please forget it.”

Sokka nodded vigorously. “Got it. All done. Welcome to the Gaang.”

“The gang?”

“Yeah, but with two A’s, because it’s Aang’s gang, because—”

“He picks up strays with his nudity?”

Sokka clapped him on the shoulder. “You really are one of us,” he said, wiping away a fake tear.

“Excuse me,” an irritated voice said from behind them. “Are you planning on standing like that any longer?” An elderly man rapped Sokka’s shin with a cane. “This is a bathroom, not a place for youthful trysts.”

Sokka cleared his throat and said, “Apologies, good sir. Our tryst is complete.” He started walking back to the Gaang’s table, making a confused face behind the old man’s head that Zuko had to stifle a laugh at.

Zuko headed into the bathroom, but before the door swung shut he could hear Sokka cheerfully exclaiming, “False alarm, guys! My bladder’s doing great!”

 

Dinner was just what Zuko needed. A few highlights:

“I’m also a competitive swimmer,” Katara said, after explaining in great detail her pre-med classes and future aspirations.

Sokka snorted. “Competitive is right.”

“Right, as opposed to having a never-finished engineering degree,” she volleyed back. The fight quickly devolved into the two of them tossing their lentils at each other, which Toph finished off with a well-aimed ketchup squirt into Sokka’s eye.

Later:

“Since I have pretty thin fingers, I had to help my friend fish out the condom stuck in her—”

“Nope! Please don’t finish that thought,” Sokka said, sticking two fingers in his ears.

“Don’t be gross, Sokka,” Toph said. “It’s all a part of nature.”

“I don’t really study nature, so I can’t argue with that, but that doesn’t seem right,” Sokka said.

“I think it’s possible,” Aang said. “During my animal husbandry class, I had to help a mare during birth and it was probably a lot like—”

Katara cut him off. “Do _not_ complete that sentence.” Zuko noted that both siblings seemed a little squeamish compared to their friends.

He began, “Actually, that reminds me—”

“NO!” Both siblings yelled at him.

During dessert, when everyone had grown a little tipsy from the locally sourced beers:

“Sokka, isn’t Zuko’s nose hot?” Toph asked.

Sokka seemed to take the question in stride. “As far as hot noses go,” he mused, “Probably up there with Cillian Murphy, but below Javier Bardem.”

“How do your rankings even work?” Zuko asked.

“It’s a complicated system involving character, shape, attitude, sensation, and wrinkle-ability,” Aang answered.

“That doesn’t really make sense.”

“No,” Katara sighed.

“Listen, the nose doesn’t lie,” Toph said.

“Well,” Zuko said, “Cheers to noses.” And they all raised their glasses.

They all said goodbye outside of the restaurant, and Katara felt the need to hug everyone before leaving, which meant everyone had to hug each other as they said goodbye.

As Zuko leaned down to say goodbye to Toph, she held him tight and whispered, “You’re better than just the nose.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“I meant, welcome to the Gaang.” She let him go and patted his arm forcefully. “My driver is here, so I’ll see everyone at the next terrible frat party. I’ll need you to help me smuggle out alcohol,” she shouted, before being whisked away by a sleek black car.

Aang, Katara, and Sokka were all heading the same way, so Zuko unlocked his bike and made his awkward goodbyes. “Thanks, guys,” he said. And he hopped onto the bike, letting their parting cheers warm his way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a slightly serious note? breathing in on a four count & breathing out on a six count is a pretty decent coping strategy if you deal with anxiety. helps reset your brain.
> 
> anyway, excited these assholes finally got together, fun chapter incoming (i promise).


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